


stranger creatures (rewrite)

by thebrobecks



Series: Glowing Eyes [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Demons, Experimentation, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shapeshifting, Souls, Telekinesis, Teleportation, Villains, i think i invented some of those polyamory relationship tags whoops !, spells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9444278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrobecks/pseuds/thebrobecks
Summary: Society had called his kind mutants since they’d first started admitting their existence. As far as Josh knew, it was true.





	1. afflicted by fiction

**Author's Note:**

> so hey here's the rewrite of this!! gonna get started on this and honestly its gonna be So much better.  
> note: the polyamory tag is going to be a Thing, i promise. i havent added polyamory to the relationship tags yet because im still figuring out the dynamics of the relationships but honestly its a total big gay time in this here household.  
> also: please read the rest of the works in this series (besides the old stranger creatures) before reading this one! sometimes things are mentioned that you wont understand unless you read the other things.  
> k bye you can read now

Josh had never been blessed with even the smallest amount of foresight or premonition. It just wasn’t his area; planning ahead was almost a foreign concept to him. He’d only ever done it in school, when he was graded based on how well he planned out his projects, or presentations, or whatever other busy work they forced upon him. Simply put, Josh was an expert at winging it (Or, not really an expert, because to ‘wing’ something, you had to have not practiced it at all.), which was why the odd feeling gathering in his stomach as he got ready for patrol made him falter.

His hands paused as he laced up his boots, eyes narrowing at the foreign sensation. He didn’t dwell on it too much though; chalking it up to the anticipation of giving his limbs a good, steady workout. He finished tying up the laces, tucking the ends back into the boot, and made towards the door.

Josh shut it as he stepped out into the brisk, spring air. He carefully locked the door, and tested the lock, just to make sure. As per request, every single door leading outside had to be locked when not in use. He supposed there was a point to it. Tight security kept danger out, and keeping danger out kept them alive. Alive meant being safe, and being safe was one of the few luxuries they had. The five all knew what not being safe was like; danger was far too familiar to not take every precaution possible, no matter how trivial it seemed.

He shook his head; he really shouldn’t be thinking about the reasons behind keeping the house locked. Last time he let himself do that, he nearly had a mental breakdown. _Thank God for Patrick_ , he mused as he strode across the empty balcony. His footsteps echoed on the mostly unused stone. Even though this particular balcony was the largest and had the nicest view, Josh was the only one who actually used it. And he didn’t even use it for what it was made for. No, he used it to jump out into the open air, to a fall that would probably end in certain death for most people.

Though it sounded so damn cliche it nearly made him laugh, Josh wasn’t like _most people_ . Nobody he surrounded himself with was _most people_ either.

Society had called his kind mutants since they’d first started admitting their existence. As far as Josh knew, it was true. Not much research was actually done on them, because every mutant was so incredibly different that what was true for one wouldn’t be for another. It really was a shame that the general public only knew that they were exactly like humans, but usually _better_ in some way. Whatever a mutant’s power was, it was almost always something that many normal people would kill to have. _Literally_.

In Josh’s case, he had the ability to manifest any appendage of any living thing he wanted on his body. That was how the doctor had described it when he was younger. In basic English, he could pretty much summon parts or limbs of any animal, real or mythological. He also inherited that animal’s abilities; like, a dragon’s ability to breathe fire—don’t ask how he found that one out, or what happened afterwards—or maybe a fish’s ability to take in oxygen from water.

He climbed up onto the balcony’s wrought iron railing, wrapping his hands around the frigid metal and staying in a crouched position. It was easier to jump this way, to get enough force and momentum for a solid takeoff.

Josh shuddered in slight discomfort as two huge, leathery wings sprung out of his shoulder blades. Dragon wings were a bit easier to summon and handle than bird wings; bird wings always took longer to form, because he had to make sure each feather appeared. Just missing one primary or secondary flight feather could completely throw his balance off. Dragon wings weighed much less, and subsequently were less of a workout. They were almost as good for flying as bird wings, anyway. If Josh needed finesse and precision when he was flying, bird wings were better, but flying over a forest didn’t really require much accuracy.

He unfolded the wings to their full length, the joints cracking as he stretched them as far as they could go. The right wing twinged a bit at some of the joints or parts of the bones, a constant reminder of his last injury. He doubted that little twinge would ever go away, given that he didn’t really give the wing as much time as it needed to heal. Being stuck on the ground sucked, and he took the first chance he could get to fly again. So what if it wasn’t responsible? He _really_ didn’t like being all cooped up.

His full wingspan was around twenty-four feet, each wing about twelve feet long. Josh was pretty sure they wouldn’t grow anymore. He’d last measured them about eight months ago, and he was twenty one years old; well out of puberty, during which they had grown just as fast as the rest of him.

Josh tucked his wings in a little closer and pushed off the balcony with as much force as he could. He only snapped them out after he had gained a little momentum, and he soared effortlessly across the house’s backyard and above the treeline. Josh had learned from experience that he had to get the timing right when unfolding his wings. Too early, and the wind would buffet him backwards. Too late, and he could seriously end up hurting himself. Snapping one’s wings out while plummeting downwards at a constantly increasing velocity was surprisingly painful, especially now, considering his wing had only healed enough for flying about a month ago.

He shook his head. His own mind was getting him sidetracked far too often tonight, and he couldn’t afford to think about anything else other than what he was doing. _Especially_ that. It had been over five months, since it had happened, and he shouldn’t be teetering at the edge of a flashback all the time. Patrick had only started letting him go alone on patrols a couple of weeks ago. Josh couldn’t let himself slip now.

He flew low, his wings brushing the treetops with every downwards stroke. This way, he could easily survey the forest floor without needing to dodge trees. Usually, the parts of the forest he had to patrol were empty save for the wildlife and stray campers, which Josh mostly left alone. He would get as close as he dared—sometimes even perching in trees, though he preferred to stay on the ground hidden _behind_ a tree—to make sure that they really were just stray campers, then would leave the area to continue his patrol. Josh hadn’t found anyone or any _thing_ suspicious since he’d started patrols, and he’d rather keep it that way. Sure, it made patrols pretty monotonous and boring, but he didn’t really know how to handle criminals. Or people that wanted him dead. It wasn’t really anything _new_ for him, but Josh wasn’t exactly good at reading people’s morals. He wasn’t like Brendon, or Dallon. He wouldn’t be able to decide on his own if someone he caught deserved to be dead or just have their memory wiped and sent on their way.

Josh was just about to fly higher to cover more ground when he realized that the ambient noise of the forest had abruptly gone quiet. He thought back to the weird feeling he had before taking off, and shuddered. He realized now that it must have been some sort of intuition.

Not even the crickets were chirping; no, the only sound was the weak breeze rustling the trees and his own breathing. He swallowed. Sudden, inexplicable silence surely couldn’t be a good thing. Especially when the silence seemed to bring a heavy, unpleasant quality to the air. _Yeah_ , that definitely wasn’t normal.

He tucked his wings in and dove through a gap in the treetops. Before he could get himself killed, he slowed himself down by tilting the bottom face of his wings up. Because of how long they were, he had to go so slow to avoid hitting trees that he was barely even staying in the air. It wasn’t like he could actually make them smaller, though. He’d tried before, and all it got him was pain. _Yeah_ , trying to shrink actual bone and muscle was _very_ painful. Who would have guessed? Anyone but Josh, probably.

Josh flew in ever-widening circles, scanning the shadows for whatever had brought the oppressive silence. It was _really_ slow going, and whatever was out here was either hiding from him, or he just wasn’t close enough to it. He truly didn’t have the patience to carefully search every inch of the forest, even though that was what he _had_ to do.

Grumbling, he picked up the pace a little bit. The trees had started to thin out, giving him enough space to even stretch his wings out all the way. _That_ was nice. He wished the entire forest was this way. It would be _easier_ to search, too. There were simply less places to hide in a thin forest.

Out of the corner of his eye, Josh spotted something dark making a sudden movement towards… He squinted. A thick oak tree. Dragon vision was extremely sharp, but the movement was almost too far away even for his advanced eyesight.

Josh swung his leg forward, the force enough to make his body perpendicular to the ground. He flapped his wings fast, slowing his momentum and dropping towards the forest floor at the same time. Once he had descended enough, he tucked his wings in completely and hit the ground at a jog. He stopped behind the nearest tree, taking a moment to collect himself.

Grimacing, he pulled his pistol out of its holster. Josh hated the thing; it drew too much attention to him. Pistols were loud, and sometimes they weren’t accurate, and they had to be reloaded far too often. He preferred his own abilities—but of course, the four had forced him to take the gun anyway. They claimed it was the best for taking down trouble without actually killing, if the situation called for that. Personally, Josh thought he could take someone down with his own abilities without killing them _just fine_.

He made sure the safety was on, and peered out towards the tree the dark shape had moved behind. Josh could just make out its edges, blurred by his squinting. Absently, he wondered if he needed glasses. Some things _had_ been kind of blurry to him recently…

Josh filed the thought away to the back of his mind for later. He moved towards the tree, anticipation thrumming through his body as he drew closer. His senses were on high alert; eyes taking in everything around him, ears strained to pick up any and all sounds.

He clicked the safety on his gun off and raised it once he was a few yards away from the thick trunk, eyes trained on its edges. Whatever had ducked behind it _had_ to be there; he would have heard or seen it moving away, since the tree was only so large. With his index finger curled around the trigger, he stepped out and adopted a defensive stance.

But there was nothing. The area behind the trunk was… empty.

He lowered his arms in confusion, but didn’t have any time to contemplate the disappearance. Josh heard a soft _ting!_ , and before he could form a coherent thought, he was slammed shoulder first into the bark. His right wing was, thankfully, spared. He didn’t know if it would heal again if it was injured.

He tried to move forward, off the trunk and back onto the ground, but all he could do was turn his head. It was as if gravity had… turned sideways, if that made any sense. Instead of keeping him upright on the ground, it was pressing him against the tree. He was sure that if it wasn’t there, he would be “falling” uncontrollably and colliding into any and all obstacles in his path.

The force holding him down only got stronger as the seconds passed, making him think of that one amusement park ride that spun so fast the centrifugal force pressed him down hard enough that he could barely move his head. Except now, he wasn’t on a spinning ride and he was being held down with something much more aggressive than centrifugal force. It was getting so strong he could barely manage to breathe. His hands shook.

“Well, _well_ , looks like the mouse... finally... wandered into the trap,” an inhuman, slow voice rumbled from somewhere in front of him. Josh struggled even more against the force holding him down, trying to raise the arm with the gun. He could only move it a few inches, jaw clenched in his effort, before it wavered and fell back, useless.

Something—no, someone—stepped out from the shadows, towering above Josh. There was a large hood draped over its head, obscuring its eyes from view, but he still got the feeling that it was staring at him.

Josh snapped himself out of his stupor and found his voice. “Who the h- _ell_ are you?” He tried to sound as menacing as he could, but he could hardly find the strength to breathe, let alone speak, leading to his voice breaking in the middle of the sentence.

The thing leaned forward, close enough that Josh should have been able to see its face under the hood. But, all he saw was… nothing. Where a face, or even just a head should have been, there seemed to be something akin to a black hole. Josh’s blood ran cold. This was _way_ more than just some creepy mutant sneaking through the woods. This was something… _alien_ , something _powerful_ … Josh felt his legs turn to jelly.

“My name…” it began, voice low and ancient, “my name… must _never_ be spoken. To utter it is to… bring yourself a fate… worse than death. However, titles… are not an important factor… in our conversation.” It didn’t move once while it spoke, staying in the same bent over position merely a foot away from Josh’s face. It’s voice was infuriatingly slow, but he wasn’t sure whether it thought Josh was stupid or just wasn’t able to speak faster.

Josh bristled. “Conversation? What, is this a fucking tea party to you?” He spat out, glaring defiantly at the thing in front of him.

It raised a cloaked arm, hand covered by a leather glove. The middle finger and index finger were poised to snap. “If… you ever… speak to me in that manner again… there will be… severe… consequences.” On the last furious syllable, the fingers snapped. The sudden, startling noise echoed through the forest.

Then, Josh had to fight back a scream. It felt like every single nerve ending in his right arm had been doused in acid and set on fire. There was no way to describe the pure agony he was in, no words that could do it justice. He writhed desperately, scrabbling at the rock and trying to get his wings to work and propel him the fuck out of there, but they were weakened by the pain. It felt way too similar to—

 _No,_ no _, can’t think of that right now, in too much danger, not right now, fuck!_

“Make… it fu-ucking… _st-op!_ ” He yelled out between clenched teeth, the pain starting to travel from his arm, which was quickly going numb, up to his neck and dangerously close to his heart.

Just as he felt the pain dance down his spine, it stopped. Panting, Josh opened his eyes again to see that the thing had straightened back up, still staring down at him.

“That is only… a mere fraction of my power. Do not… _test_ me, Joshua.”

“How do you know my name?” Josh asked, still trying to catch his breath. He felt those painful pins and needles in his arm, and grimaced, trying not to pay attention to it.

Ignoring his question, the thing kept talking in that slow, unsettling voice. “Now, I do have… a reason for this visit. I have a… proposal for you, Joshua.” Before Josh could even open his mouth to put his two cents in, it continued speaking. “Do not think that this will be a… negotiable proposal. No... this will only end... in the way I wish for it to. But, because I am feeling rather generous… I will offer you a choice. You may either agree now and come with me easily… or you will give me your answer in…” It seemed to pause and think. “...a week’s time. Whichever choice you make… it will end in the same way. If you protest… well, I have heard heavy praise on my _methods_.” The emphasis on the last word let him know that the so-called ‘methods’ would likely be akin to torture.

Josh stared up at the creature standing before him, eyes wide. There was no way he was going to question what exactly the being’s _methods_ entailed. He drew in a shuddering breath, and blinked once. “What’s your proposal?”

It chuckled, and Josh got the impression it was smirking. “Why… Infinite power, of course. Bigger powers are at play in your universe… It would be a shame if… I did not have a commander for my… army. My soldiers will be yours. They will adhere to… your every whim and wish. Think about it, Joshua… You could rule all of time and space. Everything you… mortals could possibly lust for… It will all be yours.”

Josh’s mouth went dry, even though the offer sounded disgustingly cliche. He didn’t want power. He didn’t want control. He didn’t lust for anything. All he wanted was to live his damn life. God knows how much he didn’t need to be looped into another mess right now.

Besides, Josh knew how deals like this worked. He wasn’t a complete dumbass. Well, most times he wasn’t. But, there would obviously be a catch to the being’s proposal. Nobody got something like infinite power without there being some sort of hitch.

All he could do was shake his head fervently, hoping that the creature would get the message and leave.

It seemed to sigh, and leaned in closer. The force holding him down seemed to get stronger, too, but it may have been how much he loathed its proximity. “I see,” it hissed. Literally, hissed. What the hell. “I will return in a week to fetch you. Do not speak a word of this to your _little friends,_ unless you wish for them to meet a most painful fate,” it snapped. In anger, it seemed that the creature actually was able to speak at a normal pace.

Turning around—with a swish of the cloak and everything—the being stepped away from Josh and vanished. The pressure on his body released as well, and he sagged to the mossy ground with a low whine.

Shaking, Josh buried his head in his hands and tried not to think of his situation so he wouldn’t have a full-blown freakout. Of course, that could only work for so long, and it wasn’t like he could avoid the topic forever.

Fisting his hands in his hair, he tugged at the strands. The pinpricks of pain kept him just barely grounded, but that was good enough for the moment. Josh grated his teeth together and sucked in an unsteady breath.

Home. He had to get home. He could freak about how fucked he was later, in the safety of his room. The forest was dangerous, always had been dangerous, he couldn’t stay out here. Josh staggered to his feet, despite his weak knees and barely suppressed terror. On reflex, he swiped the pistol from the ground and jammed it back in the holster. He hadn’t even known he’d dropped it.

Pete would kill him if he left the gun behind on a patrol. Even if Josh didn’t really need the thing,  Pete would kill him. He didn’t want to die.

He didn’t want to die.

He lifted off the ground with a few frantic pumps of his wings. Usually, he needed a running start to help lift him off the ground, but his adrenaline was still pumping through his veins. He didn’t need that extra boost right now.

Once above the canopies, Josh made a beeline for the house. He could just see the pricks of light from the windows, and the unnatural shape rising above the trees. Josh couldn’t remember the last time he’d flown this fast, air drying his eyes and blurring his vision with tears.

Actually, he could. He could remember it very well. But he didn’t need a flashback right now, on top of his mounting panic. God, he was a mess. Couldn’t even think of the past without having a fucking mental breakdown.

His landing was clumsy. Josh stumbled over his own legs, hardly keeping himself from falling over when he listed. Managing to right himself, he wrapped his hand around the doorknob and hesitated, taking a moment to breathe.

Secret. Gotta keep this a secret. One slip, and they might die. One slip, and Josh’s life, the reason he wasn’t _dead_ right now, was over. He couldn’t mess this up. Taking a deep breath, he put on his best blank face and pulled the door open. A reflexive scan of what he could see of the bedroom told him it was empty. Safe.

Closing and locking the door behind him, he padded across the vacant room—one of the extras that nobody used yet—and made his way towards his own bedroom. The house had two guest rooms, one of which Josh used.

Through sheer power of will, Josh kept his legs from collapsing under him like they wanted to. He had to keep one hand trailing on the walls to keep his shaking limbs under him.

His vision was going dark by the time he saw the door to his room; to keep from hyperventilating, Josh had taken to holding his breath. It wasn’t conventional, and didn’t really work all that much, but if he didn’t breathe he wouldn’t lose control and if he didn’t lose control he would be okay.

Arriving in his room felt like a bible-thumper coming across the garden of Eden. Josh pushed the door shut behind him with one feeble arm, not checking to see if it had closed all the way. He tugged his boots and jacket off, ripping the material from his skin as if it had burned him.

Still in his clothes, Josh pitched forward onto the bed and planted his face onto the pillow, allowing himself to breathe again. The inhalations came in shuddering, agitated gasps, but he let the fabric under him muffle any sounds that came out. It wouldn’t do for anyone to come investigating any noises and finding Josh in the midst of a panic attack.

He fell asleep that way, trying and failing to quell the horror that came with being caught in a situation like this. Josh knew he should be able to defeat the being, but… it was hard when it could throw him around like a ragdoll without laying a single cold hand on him. Even if he wanted to tell his friends, he didn’t want them getting killed. This was Josh’s burden to bear; he was the only one that could handle this.

He was thoroughly and utterly screwed, and he knew it.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. remember to learn to forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> josh is wary and everyone is gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sup whaddup whas good how u doin whassup its yer local cockroach here with another chapter its 12:30 AM and im rlly tired and i love the struts listen to roll up whats new with yall  
> chapter title from before the lobotomy by green day

It was times like these that Josh was eternally grateful that the group understood that sometimes, all one needed was to be alone. Having someone practically over the shoulder like a mother hen, being responsible and making sure the episode—or what have you—faded smoothly? Sure, it could be helpful, but at times solitude  and  _ time  _ were the only things that could heal some wounds.

In Josh’s case, he would have spent the whole week avoiding his friends, only leaving his room deep in the night when everyone was asleep. However, the five of them had come to an agreement that four days and three nights of radio silence was the absolute maximum before someone was sent to make sure the isolated person wasn’t dead. Risky, and possibly a bit reckless, but… it worked. Just like the group. Unconventional and likely a ticking time bomb, but good enough.

The gentle knock he had been waiting for caused him to blow out an exhale, rolling his head back on his shoulders and letting his eyes fall shut. This is exactly what he had been holing himself up in his room for; Josh had never been able to hold his tongue. Let one thing slip around the group, and they would… die. He didn’t know whether or not to believe the threat from three nights ago. 

One one hand, it could be a bluff. The Being—as Josh had taken to calling him, since he was never given a name—had an awfully common goal, and usually those with such ambitions exaggerated their prowess and strength.

On the other hand, the creature could be speaking the truth. He had never experienced anything, mutant or any other species, that held such a large amount of brute power. The gravity trick and the agony spell couldn’t have been a full display; it had to be hiding more. Nobody would demonstrate the full extent of their skill during a first meeting, even if they  _ were  _ exaggerating.

All in all? Josh just knew he had to keep his mouth shut. Even if the threat was fake, he wasn’t about to risk it. Recklessness was okay when it came to himself, but never with his friends. Ever.

“Josh?” Another knock, more forceful this time. “You alive in there?”

Josh grumbled in response. It seemed they had sent Dallon this time. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guy, he was just… more on edge around him than the others. Dallon wasn’t the one at fault for that, either; it was just Josh being paranoid. As usual.

The door opened, a wary Dallon stepping into the room. The tension faded from his shoulders once he saw that Josh looked unharmed, save for the bags under his eyes. 

“Hey. You up to joining us for jam night?” He asked. That was Dallon; always straight to the point, hiding concern behind a mask of tired apathy. 

“Jam night? But it’s a Wednesday. Jam nights are Thursdays.” ‘Jam night’ was the term the group gave to their weekly quote unquote band practice. In reality, the four of them and their roles weren’t fit for a traditional band, and they hardly did any original music anyway. Just covers.

Dallon shrugged, eyes flitting about Josh’s room absently. “I dunno. Patrick told me that we needed to get you out of your room, so...” he said, waving one heavily scarred hand in an awkward pattern in place of an explanation. “He also told me to make sure you were taking your meds.”

His meds. Josh had completely forgotten about them. In his defense, he had more important things to worry about. “Yeah, I’ve… I’ve been taking them,” he lied, wincing at the uncertainty in his voice. His eyes were locked on Dallon’s scars, body and mind freezing up the same way they always did when he caught a glimpse of the marred appendage.

Dallon squinted at him, but sighed and relented. “Alright. Be down in the studio in an hour? You look like you need to bang out some tension on the set.” He gave Josh a slight, somewhat warm smile that chipped away at some of the anxiety and fear that had been plaguing him for days. 

He paused, face serious. “Take your meds.”

Josh made a face that was somewhere between surprised and mock-offended that he didn’t get away with the lie. “How would you know I haven’t?”

Dallon wiggled his fingers at him, smirking. “Void powers, Josh. Void powers,” he joked. Josh allowed himself to snort at the thinly veiled sarcasm. Then he left Josh alone, without a sound or further explanation. Not that he needed one.

Josh grit his teeth and made to roll out of his bed, but paused. Right. His meds. 

He gave the bottle of Zoloft a weary glare, tightening his jaw before reaching over to the nightstand. The pills weren’t the miracle drug some claimed them to be, but he supposed he did what they were advertised to do. He swallowed one dry, twisting the cap around the neck of the bottle and letting it drop back to the surface of the table with a hollow  _ clack _ . The sheets on his mattress rustled as he finally got to his feet. 

His shower took longer than it normally would. Josh wasn’t one to take long showers; he washed and conditioned his hair, scrubbed any grime or sweat off his body, and was done with it. Ten minutes tops, because Josh preferred to be clothed and not dripping wet and vulnerable. Today, though, he took an indeterminate amount of time to sit—or rather, stand—below the relentless spray and just  _ think _ . That was mostly all he had been doing for the past four days, but those were spent in the odd, foggy mindset of procrastination and avoidance. Detached. Not as urgent as the situation called for. Almost relaxed. 

Now, though, his thoughts were contaminated with urgency, rushed and screaming that  _ he had a responsibility, he couldn’t fail!  _

His left hand scratched at the other arm, the myriad of colors that was his tattoo sleeve hiding any mark that may have been made by his blunt nails. Where there would have been angry, raised red was vibrant greens and blues and oranges and purples. Not that hiding scratch marks was the  _ purpose  _ of the tattoo. It had a much deeper meaning to him; what it was currently doing was nothing but a… bonus, if you will.

The water soon refused to get any hotter, beginning to slowly cool. Josh forced the muscles in his shoulders to keep from tensing up, and tried one last time to organize his thoughts.  _ Don’t tell the others. Keep your ordeal a secret. They’re in danger. You can keep them out of it. Keep them out of it. Save them.  _

He shuddered and turned the water off, hardly taking any time to dry himself off. If he wasn’t dripping, then he was dry enough. Simple as that; he didn’t see why the others didn’t get it. Having the air dry him off on its own was nice; it felt more natural than getting rid of the wetness with a towel. 

Josh dressed light. Band practice almost always ended in everyone sweaty and gross, so putting on a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants like he wanted to wasn’t an option. The cool air coming into contact with his slightly damp, bare arms made him shiver a bit, but he didn’t pay it any mind. Dress any heavier, and he’d ruin what he wore. Dress lighter, and he literally wouldn’t be wearing anything but boxers. The others probably wouldn’t complain, but, well, Josh still had some of his modesty,  _ thank you very much _ .

He made his way down to the basement, or the studio, as they liked to call it. It probably wasn’t qualified to be called a studio, but it had their instruments and some dusty recording equipment, so, good enough. 

It hadn’t been an hour yet—only forty six minutes, to be exact—so Josh was expecting to be the only one down there. What he got, though, was the opposite.

Patrick was standing near his microphone stand, playing something on his prized cherry red guitar. Brendon sat on one of the bass amps, warming up his voice and strumming a few chords on his black and white hollow-body. Dallon and Pete were both hooking up their respective basses, changing the settings on their amps. Dallon had to practically shove Brendon off his amp, to which the latter responded by flicking the former on the nose and walking over to his mic stand.

The four all looked up when Josh appeared, though they went back to their music just as fast as they’d stopped. They all knew how much large amounts of attention bothered him.

Josh made his way over to the shiny yet battered drumset in the back of the room, giving a grateful nod to the water bottle someone had placed beside his seat. It was little things like this that made him love the group. In just shy of six months, each of them had taken the time to get to know him. To figure out what would upset him, or make him uncomfortable, and get rid of it before it caused a problem. Or the things that would make him feel better, safer. A chilled water bottle didn’t make him feel safer, per se, but it let him know that they were thinking about him. That they loved him just as much as he loved them. 

Josh took his seat behind the set, grabbing his drumsticks and tapping out a simple beat to warm up. This never took much thought, so he just decided to watch the others as they tuned up and adjusted their instruments. 

Brendon, finished fiddling with his guitar, had begun testing his mic and warming up his vocal chords at the same time. It wasn’t like he really had to warm them up; he sang almost constantly. Mornings weren’t mornings unless Brendon’s singing and the smell of bacon or eggs or whatever he decided to cook woke you. There were worse ways to wake up. 

_ Like chained and in _ —Nope. No thank you, not going to go there, not today. He started a more complex rhythm, forcing the flashback out through a rapid and precise beat instead of a louder one. By the time he felt secure in his own thoughts again, the rest of them were ready. 

They always started off with the same Black Keys song. It wasn’t too complicated, but had just the right amount of energy to get them into the vibe they needed. If they didn’t play it, the rest of the practice would feel off. It was almost like a good luck charm, or a ritual, or something. 

Patrick’s deft fingers had the melancholy opening riff ringing gently through the room, though Dallon’s lilting voice spelled out the verse. The duo produced the only sounds until the pre-chorus, when Josh tapped out a simple, low beat to match the volume of the other two. When the first chorus dropped out, Brendon brought in the heavy distorted guitar and they let the energy of the remaining two minutes consume them. 

From there, they non-verbally bounced ideas off and fed from each other’s energy. One would transition into a new beat, or a faster chord progression, or seamlessly jump into a cover, and the rest would follow. They would think of nothing but the music, playing just what they thought was right. Their shifts from one genre, or beat, or song, to another, were almost too natural, too perfect, as if their very souls were singing and playing and drumming in harmony. In a way, they might have been.

For an hour and a half, or however long they felt like playing, a normally quiet room became filled with the sounds of stress and anxiety being released. Be it through a particularly complicated riff, or a sharp bassline, or a fast, desperate drum beat, the five of them let the session be as therapeutic as they needed it to be. 

Which was why Josh’s drumming was a bit more urgent than it usually was. His transitions, while still perfectly timed, were somewhat harsh, accompanied by fast crescendos and complicated syncopations. 

Each of the four others gave him brief, somewhat concerned glances after a particularly hard beat or tense solo, but did not speak up. Either from reluctance to break their harmony, or understanding that he needed this, Josh didn’t know, but he didn’t really care to question.

It took a while, but soon they began to falter in their playing. This was what normally led them to call it a night. Messing up, missing a note or a chord, wasn’t unusual. In fact, it was to be expected. But once they all started to make mistakes or were sluggish in picking up a change, it was obvious that they had expended their collective energy. 

They all trailed off at around the same time, allowing the last of the guitar or bass notes to ring out and quiet themselves. Patrick, Brendon, and Dallon all immediately unplugged their microphones, avoiding the inevitable ear-splitting feedback before it even started. 

Josh took a huge swig from his water bottle, draining the last of the liquid from the bottle. He wiped his sweaty, calloused palms on his basketball shorts and stood, placing the drumsticks in their little pouch. He was glad that he didn’t have to put away wires and such like the other four; he felt like he was about to drop. Four days of near-constant anxiety paired with meds and over an hour of physically releasing the stress tended to do that to a person.

“Who’s up for a slumber party on the couch tonight?” Pete called out abruptly, making Josh jump a little. Everyone was busy, so they didn’t notice his minor lapse.

Brendon turned to Pete, incredulity raising one eyebrow and giving his voice a dry tone. “Slumber party? Dude. We’re all gross and sweaty and tired. Totally not…” At Pete’s pointed look, Brendon backpedaled. “I, I mean, yeah, of course, sounds great.”

Josh knew he was missing something, and blew air out of his nose in exasperation. “Can we at least, like, change first? I don’t wanna wake up mashed between all of your smelly asses if I can avoid it,” he griped. 

“Please. You love my smelly ass,” Pete said, giving Josh a cheeky grin. Josh huffed, though a smile was forming at the edges of his mouth.

“Sure, I love your ass, but not when it’s your  _ smelly  _ ass.” Josh bared his teeth in triumph when Pete gave him a mock wounded look.

Brendon, who had been watching the exchange, smirked. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, let’s all agree that our asses are always great and lovable no matter what. Good? Yes. Now, if you’ll  _ excuse  _ us,” he drawled, latching onto the tall bassist, “Dallon and I have to go get  _ cleaned up _ .”

Patrick, who had been previously silent, joined in on the conversation with a groan at Brendon’s lewd tone. “Oh, my God, don’t you two  _ dare _ . I really do not want to be anywhere  _ near  _ that, especially on our couch. No funny business.”

“Alright, Dad. Or should I say,  _ daddy _ ,” Brendon said, mocking Patrick’s stern tone. Even Dallon laughed at the look on Patrick’s face.

“Out. Both of you. Out. Be in the living room in five minutes or I will forcefully drag your bodies down there,” the sturdy telepath threatened, placing his hands on the duo’s chests and physically shoving them out of the studio. 

The remaining three followed suit, having no more business in the room. Josh, being the last to leave, shut the light off and closed the door.

He waited until he was in the safety and isolation of his own room to let out the burdened sigh he had been holding. He was going to miss this. The friendly banter, the openness, the comfort of  _ each other _ . The four of them had filled a hole in Josh that he didn’t even know was there. He had what he had needed all his life; others who were just like him and could understand what he was going through. Who were comfortable enough in who they were to be able to connect with each other in a way that other groups lacked. To be able to show their affection, their protectiveness, of the others without being possessive or making each other uncomfortable. Josh wasn’t ready to let it go—far from it, actually, but he had no choice.

Josh closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to well up. He didn’t know if he would be able to take this for another day, much less three. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lel hope u enjoyed anyway as always leave kudos and comments if you liked it! im not sure when i'll have the next chapter up but im mostly finished planning this fic (like ive finished figuring out the main plot and final conflict) so like yeet???  
> anyway im probably not going to really develop the polyamory of this group in this fic because its not important to the plot? its just the boys all lovin each other. its great. but i'll do my best to show it sometimes when i can.   
> also. if u wanna know why josh is starin at dallons hand? read the rest of this series lol im not tellin u. you'll get it if u read the rest.   
> if u wanna contact me or follow me or something idc:  
> tumblr: @thedeathofabachelor  
> instagram: @homelessgospelchoir / @rarecryptid  
> yah  
> im gonna start song/band recs in chapter notes now just because i wanna give some good bands recognition that they deserve so  
> chapter 2 band rec: cemetery sun! these guys are sorta like. california alternative which sounds super basic but they have really catchy music. its the type of stuff that you could totally get turnt to but is also suited for chillin. also i met the singer when i saw them (i hadnt even heard of them, i was seein the struts lmao) and he was rlly nice even tho he was like sorta in a hurry we made finger guns at each other and he got all :D when i told him cemsun would be my new favorite band anyway im rambling so uhm goodnight also friendly reminder that william beckett and brendon urie have very nice soft holdable hands also fucking satisfied from the hamilton soundtrack just came on and im already so fucking shook im in tears gotta go bye love you remember to drink water


	3. no place for the faint-hearted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter? soft. very much soft. this is where the poly tag comes in, people. i'll actually tag the relationship now i guess  
> chapter title from aftermath by muse

Josh, to be frank, was an idiot sometimes. While being a mutant could make him more intuitive and able to take the best course of action… well, he was impulsive. What seemed like the best decision in the heat of the moment tended to  _ not  _ be later on. He was a victim of his own rash choices, which was what led him to making what he already knew would be his worst course of action yet. His own protective streak was going to get him killed. 

He was going to give himself up.

To him, it was the most logical conclusion. Sure, he could wait until the week was over and he was, well, collected, for lack of a better term. Kidnapped was more accurate, but he would rather not use that. He could spend more precious time with them if he waited, but… that was too much for him to handle. The threat sang its horrid melody through his mind every time he was in the same room as one of them, reminding him to remain locked up tight and to not let the slightest amount of  _ anything  _ to leak out. After all, loose lips sink ships, and this ship was too important to ever sink.

It could have just been his paranoia, but they were already growing suspicious of him. They thought he missed the lingering, weary glances at his person, the clenched jaws and the hard brows. But he was nothing if not subtly observant. Suspicion would not do; he had to amputate the flaw at the source, which conveniently happened to be himself. 

He was to go on patrol tonight. Brendon and Dallon, having powers that, like Josh, allowed their patrols to be simpler, had covered for him over the past three nights. Dallon had done one, while Brendon had done two. The patrols were taking a toll on Bren’s physical health; while his energy seemed endless, one sprint around the forest drained his strength. Two left him weak and in need of a full twelve hours’ sleep and a few big meals. He didn’t like being vulnerable like that. Nobody but Dallon really knew why it made him so uncomfortable, but they could guess that something happened to Brendon while he was in that state. The thought of bad things happening to him, to any of them, made Josh feel sick. 

Josh didn’t really feel up to patrol, nor was he fully comfortable with what he was about to do, but… it needed to be done. He couldn’t risk their lives. Love can make people do stupid things, and he sure as hell loved them too much to put them in danger that could be avoided.

That decision brought him to where he was currently, sat on the roof of the house with one leg extended and an arm over his drawn-up right knee. His wings, feathered tonight, were held in a relaxed semi-folded position, just high enough so that his primaries brushed the roof. He took in the scenery as he chewed on a squashed granola bar he’d scrounged up — still wrapped, of course, he wasn’t  _ that  _ nasty —from under his bed. The sky was clear tonight, stars freckling the darkness and painting it navy. If he squinted, he could make out the cloudlike grays of the Milky Way, nothing but a few paler blurs across the already indiscernible sky. The moon cast silver light over his form from its post thousands of miles away, a lone sentry guarding over the night. Trees swayed in the peaceful breeze, leaves catching the light from the moon and the stars. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, and he was never going to lay his eyes upon it again. 

Before he got emotional, Josh crumpled up the granola bar’s wrapper, shoved it into a pocket, and shook out his wings. The breeze had carried leaves that got caught in his feathers and would cause discomfort while he flew. He didn’t want to spend his last flight uncomfortable.

Josh rolled his shoulders, reveling in the subtle pops, and stood, spreading his wings. He combined a stronger gust of wind and a firm stroke of his wings to lift him skywards, easily surpassing the height of the tallest trees. A gentle flap perfectly timed with an updraft sent him soaring up as if it were nothing, and he ascended as far as that push allowed. Years of practice, which had finely tuned him to wind patterns, gave him the ability to predict when and where the gusts were. He used this to his advantage, swiveling his wings to catch them and propel him higher. 

As he rose, the air became thin and cold, but he felt nothing. Nothing but the winds, weaker up this high, and an overwhelming sense of  _ belonging _ . He let his fingers trail against the cool, damp underbelly of a cloud, little whorls of vapor curling out from the disturbance. Up here, like this, it was as if he were one with the sky. As if he weren’t a person, with gangly limbs and mental health issues and protective boyfriends. The wind and the trees and the stars didn’t care about his problems, or anyone’s problems. 

Eventually the wind stopped supporting him, and he couldn’t stand the rapidly-thinning air any longer without harm. Showing off to nobody but himself, for the sole purpose of seeing what he could do, Josh spread both his arms and his wings as far out to the sides as they could go and leaned backwards. He closed his eyes, allowing the rest of his senses to pick up the slack. Wind crackled past his ears like overbearing static, chilling his skin before roaring past. His wings curled around his sides and stuck straight up as he fell, cold air whipping around him and doing nothing to slow his descent. Nothing happened for another couple of seconds, Josh letting himself fall like dead weight.

Then he felt the slightest change in the air. His lungs weren’t straining for oxygen anymore, and the atmosphere almost felt heavier. Josh snapped his right wing in toward his side, the motion causing him to flip over so that his eyes were facing the trees. Continuing the motion, he tucked both wings in close and corkscrewed as he dove, finally opening his eyes and watching the world whorl around him. This was the fastest he had ever gone, he was sure; the wind was pulling tears from his eyes, ripping the breath from his lungs, making his skin feel as if it were about to peel away from his muscles. He loved every second. 

He unfurled his wings just as the trees filled his vision, just as he twirled right-side up. Josh arced upwards again, but looped around and dove beneath the trees at a controllable pace. He’d had his fun. Now he had  _ things  _ to do. 

Josh twisted and dove and twirled between the trees, trying to hold on to the lingering feeling of peace. It was hard, though, when he was searching for his doom. Literally. 

He could still remember the vibe that creature gave off. That cold, bone-chilling sense that travelled down his body like sludge, lazy in speed but not in effect. The almost-numbness, that was somehow worse than actually being numb, that only got worse as it got closer. Horrid prickling just under the skin, as if the creature’s essence had seeped into his very pores and was trying to infect him from the inside. The gravity trick, that pressed him so drastically he could feel his bones straining from the weight, his lungs sputtering and deflating. The pure hellfire coursing through his veins after the creature snapped its fingers, that caused white spots to scurry in his vision and made the  _ wrong  _ feeling become even worse.

Yeah, he remembered that aura very well. He tried not to think about the fact that he was trying to find that feeling again. That he was actively searching for it, like an addict searches for the next hit even though they know it’s not good for them, except not really, because Josh didn’t get any gratification from this. Not ever. He was never going to feel anything good again once he handed himself over. The only positive would be that the guys were safe. Josh had to keep reminding himself that this would keep them safe. He was doing the right thing, because they wouldn’t be hurt. 

This was the thought that kept Josh searching the forest. He was starting to get the terrible feeling, so he knew it was lurking somewhere around here. He just had to keep the persistent search in this area of the woods. It would all be over soon; he couldn’t stop now. He would stop for nothing.

\---

Sticking to that philosophy would be much easier if he could just  _ find  _ the creature. Josh had been over the same area fifty times by now, checking every damn nook and cranny for naught. He knew it had to be nearby. The feeling was crackling over and around his skin like electricity, telling him that he just needed to keep searching. It was making him twitchy; every sound made him jump and whirl around in midair, with no regard to how painful it was when his arms or wings would whap a tree trunk. 

Needless to say, Josh was growing frustrated. At some point, he had decided to change form. The wings were preferred, but even he had to admit their twenty-plus-foot span wasn’t fit for forest travel. He now had the features of what he believed was a gray fox. His forearms and lower legs were covered with a thin layer of fur, and his hands and feet had become firm paws with the characteristic hooked claws of this particular canine. He didn’t know what had happened to his shoes, but they had to be miles behind him by now. In this form he could travel near fifty miles per hour, even when he was bounding from tree to tree as he was doing now. Much more efficient than flight. 

Every time the invading feeling of the creature intensified, it retreated and left him feeling more lost than before. Why would it be avoiding him? He was giving himself up. He was going to turn himself over. He was giving it what it wanted. It had to know that, it just  _ had  _ to. 

Still, though, Josh’s searching was fruitless. He came to a stop in the branches of a sturdy oak—how the hell did he even get up here?—and dug his claws into the bark, lungs heaving. Josh grit his teeth so hard they ached, but the words ripped their way from his throat anyway. 

“I’m here, dammit! I’m ready! I’ve decided, fucking  _ take me _ , lying sack of  _ shit _ !” Josh snarled, the words warped and gravelly from his half-canine transformation. He perched still on the branch, sensitive fox-hearing strained to pick up any sound from the creature he  _ knew  _ could hear him. 

…

Nothing. Not even a damned twig snapping, or the telltale sound of someone stepping on moss and brush. Nothing but the sounds of the breeze and the creaking of the trees. Josh swore, he was going to burst a blood vessel at this point. 

The branch he stood on began to crack in protest as he dug his claws even farther into the bark in order to suppress his screams of frustration. Letting a breath hiss through his teeth, he pulled his arms free and dropped from the branch. He hit the forest floor feet-first with nothing but a faint thud and straightened, shifting back to his bird-form.

“Fine,” he said, voice cold and decisive. “Play your damn game.” With that, Josh gave a strong downstroke of his wings and shot into the air, grass blown over by the blast of wind he produced.

He had no more business in these woods if the creature wasn’t going to come out. Nothing else would be out here anyway. Even if Josh didn’t finish a patrol, something he hadn’t dared to do lest he be prohibited from patrol duty, the creature’s presence would scare anything with half a mind away from their neck of the woods. They were safe. As safe as they could be with a creature of unknown strength prowling the forest and no doubt stalking them. 

Josh wasted no time in the flight back to the house. He was seeing too much red right now to want to practice his usual tricks, and he wouldn’t be able to do them well enough anyway. His movements were clipped and jerky; there would be no more grace tonight. All Josh wanted now was his bed and  _ maybe  _ a bit of a drink to dull the sharp edges of his thoughts.

The landscape blurred beneath him as he flew, the usual greens painted in silvery navy and grey and black by the moon. If he had the patience, he would be marvelling in the sight. It seemed it really wasn’t the last time he would see his trees and his house and his  _ boys _ .

No. He wasn’t going to let himself be relieved by that. Not even secretly. This wasn’t something to celebrate. Josh just had more time to become nervous and paranoid and jumpy. So, yeah, not being taken tonight was definitely not a  _ good  _ thing. 

So he just flew, eyes trained straight ahead on the unnatural angles of the house’s silhouette. If he strained his vision, he could see the faint golden light from the lamp he left on in his room. It took him another five seconds—yes, he counted—to reach the balcony he usually used for patrols. He let himself shift back to human before he entered the house, not wanting to have to maneuver his wings around furniture. His mind was already fixed on the menial tasks of getting a drink and getting into bed, his body moving on autopilot at this point.

His thoughts were somewhere a million miles away by the time he reached the kitchen. He only flicked on one light, the one above the stove, just enough so he could tell cabinets apart from each other. Not enough light to notice the figure tucked in the shadows next to the fridge until he turned to leave, drink in hand. The sight of eyes staring at him, albeit familiar and worried ones, startled him more than he cared to admit. Weak liquor sloshed over the side of the glass and splattered onto the floor at his flinch, but he got past the surprise quickly enough. 

“Dallon,” he greeted, nodding to him and trying to ignore how badly his appearance had startled him. He had stopped flinching like that at Dallon’s lurking two months ago and hated the fact that he was getting jumpy enough for the habit to start again.

Josh placed his now-slick glass down on the marble island and moved to grab a paper towel to mop up the mess he’d made. He didn’t break eye contact, waiting for Dallon to speak.

“Josh. We need to talk.” His voice had an edge to it Josh had never heard before, some mixture of concern, urgency, anger, and betrayal, oddly enough.

To hide the flash of panic those words caused, Josh yanked the paper towel off the roll with more fervor than he usually would and crumpled one end in a fist to hide the trembling.

“‘Bout what?” He said, going for casual.

Dallon stepped out of the shadows, the light from the stove bathing his right side in a soft yellow. “Don’t do this, Josh. You know what I’m talking about,” he whispered, moving closer as he spoke. One hand stuttered back and forth for a moment, as Dallon seemed to not know whether to keep it by his side or lay it gently somewhere on Josh.

He didn’t move for a moment, jaw going firm as he fought to keep the words in. Josh bent to wipe up the spilled alcohol and gather his thoughts. When he was done, he straightened and put a hand on Dallon’s shoulder.

“I definitely  _ don’t  _ know what you’re talking about, Dal.”

Josh could see the muscles clenching in Dallon’s jaw, saw the way his teeth grit together and his lips pursed. The taller man let out a tired sigh.

“I know you’re not telling me something. Josh, who were you looking for out in the woods? I heard you yelling. I saw you circling the same area.  _ Please _ , tell me what’s wrong. Everyone’s  _ worried _ ,” Dal pleaded, staring imploringly into Josh’s eyes. 

He wasn’t going to give in, no, he  _ wasn’t  _ gonna give in. “Why’d you follow me?” He tried to act like the tension between them wasn’t killing him.

Dallon blinked. Then he blew air out of his nose in a humorless laugh. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been acting weird. I knew it had something to do with patrol, so I decided to follow you and figure out what was wrong.”

“Dal…” Josh’s eyes crinkled, briefly, but he got himself under control. He swore he could feel the creature nearby, or maybe the paranoia was finally getting to him. “Y-you sure you’re doin’ alright up here?” He joked, tapping at his head and smirking.

Wrong thing to say, apparently. Dallon’s eyes narrowed, and he grabbed both of Josh’s wrists and the world fell away around them. Damn, he did the  _ thing _ . Everything around them was black, but not the kind of black that occurred because there was no light source. That was inky and thick. This black was cold and endless.

The void.

“Josh. Listen to me. You obviously won’t tell me what’s wrong. I don’t know if it’s because you’re embarrassed by something, or if you think someone will hear you—” Josh must have flinched hard enough at those words for Dallon to feel it, because he quickly changed paths. “Okay. That’s it. Who are you afraid of, Josh? Is it one of us?” His voice was no longer tired and borderline exasperated. It was now somewhat shaky, but with concern or urgency Josh couldn’t tell.

“N-no. No, of course not. I, I love you guys, I could never be afraid of you.”

The grip around his wrists relaxed slightly. “That, that’s good. But, seriously, who is it then?”

Josh didn’t answer. He couldn’t feel the creature’s presence anymore, but he still felt like it would be able to hear him anyway.

He felt hands, warm, Dallon-shaped ones, wrap around his shoulders and chase away some of the fear. “Hey. Whoever it is can’t hear you here. I’m undetectable in the void. I’m not, I’m not full mutant, so I can hide myself in here, okay? Nobody but me can hear you. Trust me.” Josh pretended not to hear the soft ‘please’ at the end of that, but he felt like he wasn’t supposed to hear it anyway.

He felt himself begin to shake. “Do, do you. P-promise?” Josh hated the way his voice broke and stuttered, making him sound like a pathetic whelp. Well, maybe he was a pathetic whelp.

Dallon pulled him into a gentle, safe embrace, one that Josh sunk into so readily it was embarrassing. “I promise.” The words were nothing more than a whisper, barely heard above Josh’s ragged breathing, but they pushed against the walls in his mind hard enough for the dam to shatter into millions of useless fragments.

He told Dallon about his situation between wet gasps for breath and silent sobs that made him convulse with the force needed to hold the noise back. He knew the way he was acting was probably melodramatic, but he was so damn  _ scared _ . The thought of losing the four of them terrified him more than he wanted to admit. 

Dallon, the saint he was, just held Josh as he choked out the words, encouraging him to continue whenever he felt like his confession was wrapping around his throat and squeezing. Josh couldn’t see Dallon’s face from where his forehead was pressed into the latter’s shoulder, but he could imagine the rage.

Josh slumped forward when he was done talking, the fatigue from the anxiety of the past four days finally getting to him. Dallon easily supported his weight.

“Hey. Josh. I, I’m sorry you had to go through that over the past few days. I understand why you wouldn’t want to tell us what happened, but, thank you for trusting me. You’re so strong, you know that? I won’t let that guy take you. Not without a hell of a fight, okay? You’re safe with us. We would never let you go.”

The words bring back the shakes, but this time they’re not from fear. A few tears leak down his cheeks. “I. P-please don’t tell anyone. Please. It’s gonna find out, and they’re gonna get hurt. We need to keep this a  _ secret _ . I-I know you want to help, but you can’t if you’re… d…” He can’t get the word out, God, he can’t even  _ think  _ about that. 

Dallon tenses, but he nods. Josh can feel his head moving. “Okay. Okay. I know. It’s okay. I don’t like it, but I won’t tell anyone. This is just between us, alright? Just us.”

“Thank you,” Josh whispers, drawing in a quivering sigh through his nose. 

“Mhmm.” Dallon pulls in a steady breath. “Do you wanna stay here for a little longer, or should we head back? You can sleep with me and B tonight if you want.”

Josh sniffs. “Let’s, let’s go back. I don’t want to be… alone right now. If that’s. If that’s okay.”

“Always. It’s always okay. Hold on,” Dallon adds the last bit on reflex, probably, since Josh is clinging so tight to him already. 

An odd sensation passes through him, or really, out of him, in a sense. Like his cells were banding together in his body again, ridding themselves of the darkness. When he opens his eyes, he’s met with the yellow stove light and a few locks of Dallon’s soft hair tickling his nose. 

“C’mon,” Dal encourages, nudging him so he pulls his arms back and fully supports his own weight for the walk back to his and Brendon’s room. 

Josh obliges, too tired to do more than drag his feet down the hallways and up the stairs while keeping his right side glued to Dallon’s left. He’s shaking with the weight of what he’s just done, but he doesn’t have the right mindset to flip out about it at the moment. 

Dallon navigates them to his room, helping Josh peel off his patrol clothes and discard them at the foot of the bed. The Brendon-sized lump doesn’t acknowledge their presence or even wake until Josh and Dallon join him beneath the covers, the former squashed safely between the other two. Brendon is conscious long enough for him to notice that both Josh and Dallon are in bed with him, and he wraps one arm around Josh’s torso and pulls him close, his stomach to Josh’s back. His other arm curls between his chest and Josh’s shoulders.

Josh sighs, feeling tension leeching out of his chest. Dallon lays one of his arms over the two of them, close enough that Josh’s breath ghosts over his neck and collarbones. One of Dallon’s hands reaches up to card slowly through Josh’s hair, releasing tension in his neck that he didn’t even realize was there. 

As his consciousness fades away, Josh feels two pairs of lips pressing comfort and safety into his body. One gently finds his forehead, no actual pressure behind the movement, while another pushes into the curve between his neck and his shoulder. 

For the first time in a while, Josh is content.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo. hope i didnt make dal and josh too ~sappy~ josh is just very nervous and dal is protective it works perfectly.  
> i probably have a lot of things to say but im forgetting like all of them im tired  
> oh i updated like 1 line in the first chapter because i realized i??? never included the creature's threat??? im a dumbass. you dont have to go back and read it because its literally just like "bitch dont tell anyone unless u want ur friends to die lol suck my dick bye"  
> cool  
> that flight scene and the slower/softer scenes of this chapter were very much inspired by aftermath by muse. also if you want to know what the corkscrew motion is look up "how to train your dragon 2 flight scene" it's the "where no one goes" one (dont judge me i love that movie) anyway the same move along with the leaning back thing is in there except in httyd2 they're going up but?? fuck the police. i hope i explained it good enough tho that you dont have to go look it up.  
> anyway please leave comments/kudos if u enjoyed! thank you have a nice day or night adios amigos


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